


First, Second

by silvertortoise



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Flashback and Flashforward, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Serum, Sexual Fantasy, Teenage Bucky, mention of past sexual abuse, post-Winter-Soldier Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 04:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2011305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvertortoise/pseuds/silvertortoise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very first time Bucky thought about Steve Rogers THAT way, and then the first time he did it again after escaping Hydra's clutches</p>
            </blockquote>





	First, Second

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little gift for one of my beautiful rp partners~

_1935_

\- - - - -

A long, throaty groan escaped the boy's lips before he could stifle it, hips shifting restlessly against the slight roughness of the sheets as his legs bent and spread slightly. One hand grasping at the pillow beneath him, the other hand tightening and loosening in turn as he stroked himself.

Hastily, Bucky bit his own lips to keep himself quiet, head tilting back to rest against the headboard of his tiny bed, hand speeding up slightly. Normally when he did this sort of thing, he pictured a girl that he knew, or a pretty dame from the pictures. It was usually easy to come undone imagining the softness of their curves, their big bright eyes and sweet-smelling hair that he guessed would be nice to bury his face against.

Sometimes, he'd even picture a pretty guy - didn't really matter who, and since he wasn't about to tell anyone, it couldn't hurt, right? It didn't matter that sometimes he imagined strong, capable hands grasping his wrists, the rough scrape of stubble on his skin. No, it didn't matter at all.

Tonight, however, his mind was agonizingly blank at the beginning. Oh, sure he was turned on, hard up the way that teenage boys could be after a long day of sitting still in class. But his brain failed to produce any sort of appealing images to seal the deal, so to speak, leaving the brunet boy a gasping, frustrated mess. So, his mind began to wander unbidden, showing him the faces of other people he knew in quick little flickers of thought - his teachers, the nuns (he shuddered and hastily thought of something else, anything else), Steve...

Steve.

Why on God's earth his mind supplied him with the image of his best friend now, of all times, Bucky couldn't fathom. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about a guy while doing this, no sir, but... this was Steve. The little punk was just so inherently good, that it felt like a sin to even think about him in an objective way right now, while Bucky was currently fisting his own cock.  
Then his mind drifted to thinking about Steve's mouth, those soft full lips, and how they could look kissing Bucky's stomach, his hips, and he shuddered suddenly, whining at the unexpected heat that image brought him. His thumb brushed over the sensitive head of his length, sliding through the wetness collected there as he tried not to think about that little pink tongue that Steve had (he'd got glimpses of it, little teasing flashes, when the blond was drawing). Tried to not think about that little tongue teasing over his skin, blue eyes looking up at his face as Steve's lips brushed teasingly against his--  
Bucky jerked and came with a startled gasp, hips jolting slightly as he painted his stomach with slick, cheeks flushing bright pink with the realization that he'd just come to the thought of his best friend.  
Oh yeah, he was definitely going to hell.

\- - - - -

_70 years later..._

\- - - - -

It had come on to him gradually, like feeling returning to a limb that had gone to sleep - in little spurts, tingling and uncomfortable and then quite suddenly, feeling was restored.

It came on like heat, like a tight coil in his belly for which there was no explanation.

He hadn't felt this way since... not since he was Bucky Barnes. Any inadvertent arousal he'd felt as the Winter Soldier had been either chilled by the near-constant pain he suffered, or it was quickly exploited by one of the more brazen Red Room agents. The Winter Soldier did not understand nor expect pleasure, so release was quick and perfunctory, a shadow of his humanity that had been stripped away. With the one exception of Natalia, he'd gone for years without touching himself, without touching someone else, unless it was ordered.  
So that morning, when it hit him all at once that he'd gradually begun to notice things, people, how they moved and how they looked, he wasn't sure how to react. And then, some time later, when he realized that he was noticing Steve, the perfect dip and curve of the Captain's muscles, his gorgeous blue eyes that seemed to see right through James, his strong elegant hands that looked so capable...  
Yeah, he was fucked.

This morning, his body knew better than he did, knew how to react, how to get so hard that he was aching, breath coming in sharp gasps as he stood in the shower. The warm water felt cool compared to the heat of his skin, cock flushed purple and standing up almost straight against his stomach as he stared down at it in frustration. He knew, objectively, that he could grasp the erection in his hand, stroke it methodically until some sort of relief was found, but he had no idea how it would feel.  
How it would make him feel, when he was done.  
It seemed better to just leave it like that, near-painful as it was, since the only orgasms he could remember had felt like nothing, blank, and after he didn't even have a ghost of the arousal he'd felt before. At least now, while he was aroused, he could hold onto that sensation. He could revel in it, remember what it meant to be attracted to someone, to crave them.

He finished showering, hands shaking slightly as he dried himself off. It was just a few steps to his bed, where he collapsed, groaning softly at how the fabric of the sheets brushed against his hyper-sensitive skin. He was still hard, leaking slightly, experiencing an ache so deep it made his lungs feel empty, spreading out from between his legs and upward. Even his thighs felt shaky, a decided emptiness somewhere beneath his tailbone that he couldn't identify.

"Fuck... fuck it," he breathed, unable to take this any longer. His calloused right hand wrapped around his straining cock and he hissed at the contact, already finding the sensation to be a thousand times more intense than he'd felt in recent memory. His movements were rough, sparing no time for pleasantries, head dropping back and eyes closing as a useful image of Steve wavered into his mind. Just the other day he'd seen the Captain without a shirt, sparring with Clint, and god that perfect torso, the rigid v-shape of muscles highlighting his hips, it was just so gorgeous. Even now, even without Steve actually in the room, James moaned softly at the memory, legs drawing up slightly, balls tight and aching as his hand got more and more slick from pre-ejaculate.  
Here, now, this was where things would go blank, and the moment would pass. He could feel it tightening up in his stomach, his pulse thundering in his throat and his cock as he jerked himself harder, just wanting to hurry up and get it over with, wanting to... to...  
Fuck. His eyes flew open and he cried out, mouth dropping open as he rocked up into his own fist, a shock wave of pleasure blindsiding him and making it entirely impossible to keep still. Hot wetness spurting up his chest, all the way to the hollow of his collarbone, his vision blurring and fogging as his body was wracked with tremors. "What... wha--" There was no name to be put to what he was feeling, breath coming in shaky gasps and whines as his own touch grew to be too much, aftershocks making his legs and hips jerk. But he couldn't stop, not yet, fingers teasing his over-sensitive cock until it started to soften, until he couldn't see with how intense it was.

Gradually he sank down in a sweaty, panting heap, staring up at the ceiling with wide, shocked eyes.

Slowly, slowly, he brought up his hand, sticking a finger into his mouth, humming softly at the taste. This was... very different than what he'd expected.

Perhaps... perhaps it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to tell Steve how he felt.

Maybe.


End file.
